


The Inevitable University AU

by takethembystorm



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Mild sin, probably nsfw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 22:59:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7593697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/takethembystorm/pseuds/takethembystorm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Started as a short drabble by <a href="http://clairelutra.tumblr.com/">clairelutra</a> <a href="http://clairelutra.tumblr.com/post/147936780160/ook-so-lets-see-i-chose-adrienette-and-ummmmmmmm">here</a>.  Immediately got rapidly out of hand.</p><p>A series of vaguely connected one-shots and drabbles about our favorite dorks dealing with university politics and romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Office Hours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [clairelutra (exosolarmoon)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/exosolarmoon/gifts).



“Come in,” Adrien says as someone knocks at his door, the _rap-tata-tap-tap_ of someone attempting to be deliberately casual but only partially succeeding.  The knocker opens the door and _clacks_ in on a pair of hard-soled shoes before shutting the door with a quiet _clunk_.

“How can I help you?” he says, not looking up from his grading.

A pair of lightly tanned hands come to rest lightly on his desk, the skin shining golden luminous in the shaft of sunlight that strikes through the cloudy sky and through the window at his back.  He blinks at them, at the neatly manicured nails—a neat red-and-black ladybug painted on each of the pinky nails as though it were crawling across the digit—then allows his eyes to trail up them to the wrists and up further along the arms, firm with shifting steel-cord muscle, then up the arms further to their owner.

Marinette smiles toothily down at him as she leans over the desk, her expression—no, wait, a hint of something flitting across her face as their eyes meet—one of beatific innocence even as she takes a deep, deliberate breath.  Adrien jerks his eyes up and back towards her face as he rolls his chair back half a pace.

“Uh, h-hello,” Adrien says.

“Hi there, Professor,” Marinette drawls, her voice the aural equivalent of warm chocolate, velvet-soft across the tongue.

“Can, uh, can I help you with anything, Ms. Cheng?” Adrien says.  He glances at the closed door behind her.  Lessee, vault the desk and hit the door, Dr. Christman was probably in, she usually was at this time of day, and her word would be instrumental to help him not lose his job.

His train of thought is derailed as Marinette slides a hip onto his desk and leans further towards him, arching her back as she pouts ever so slightly.  Adrien feels his eyes twitch down towards the bare skin showing below her short pencil skirt independently of the chorus of _no no no no n ono no no no no_ ringing in his head.

“I didn’t really get everything in the last lecture, Professor,” she says again.  Adrien feels a runnel of molten fire run down his spine.  It should be illegal for someone’s voice to be so utterly sensual, that even such innocuous words provoked images of the two of them entangled in carnal bliss, her nails clawing at his back, his mouth on hers, her astride him, his name on her lips with that voice that would make angels weep, pure sensation driving them together again and again and again to the shuddering edge of—

Adrien blinks and realizes that he’s been staring at her cleavage for the last minute and a half.

“Are you okay, Professor?” Marinette says, brows knit in concern.  She reaches up towards him.  “You’re all red and flushed—”

The scattered papers across his desk slide out from beneath her hip and with an undignified yelp and a brief flail Marinette falls flat onto his desk, knocking his keyboard aside as Adrien’s hands, working on their own initiative, grab her by the elbows, at least partially arresting her fall.

“Ow,” Marinette groans as she stands—and Adrien is very much glad that there’s a nice solid desk between them again—rubbing at her side where the edge had dug into it.  “Oh, that’s going to leave a bruise.”

Okay, so that voice that had sounded like distilled sex had been affected, Adrien notes.  That’s good.  Now he can focus on the important things.

“Are you all right, Ms. Cheng?” he says.  He tries for cool and unruffled, but manages only stiff and half-strangled.

“I think so,” Marinette mutters, pulling her blouse up to inspect the bare skin below.

“Very well,” Adrien says.  “Ms. Cheng, you are a very attractive woman, but I must point out that you are my _student_ and that this is incredibly inappropriate.”

His eyes flick down to a card in a clear plastic card holder, dangling from a lanyard around her neck.  He frowns slightly and inspects it.

“Wait, you’re _faculty?”_ he blurts, taking a step back.

Marinette offers him a sheepish smile.  “Busted,” she says.

“Why—why are you in my class then?” he says.  She shrugs.

“I like physics,” she says.  “And I like cute men.  You’re both in a single package.”

Adrien blinks at her.  “You,” he says weakly.  “You could’ve, y’know, just asked me out or something.”

Marinette laughs, and her laugh isn’t some clear chiming thing but a snorting, half-giggling belly laugh.  Adrien feels his heart stop for a second.

“Where would be the fun in that?” she asks with a wink.  “Okay, but no seriously I kinda fell asleep halfway through lecture and I’d really appreciate it if you could help me out.”

“S-sure,” he says after a moment.


	2. Office Hours Part Two

Manon scowls at the campus map, then looks up around her, then back down at the map.  Then back up.

She groans, folds the map up, and stuffs it into her back pocket before she slips her thumbs beneath her backpack straps, hikes it up a little, and walks in the direction of the physics building.  At least, what she hopes is the direction of the physics building.

Five minutes’ walk in the last spiteful remnants of the summer heat and she’s beginning to regret her decision.

Be proactive, they said, talk to your professors early, they said, it’ll pay off they said.  Well the bastards what said that could give her a nice ice-cold drink and some air-conditioning.  And maybe one of those nifty moving walkways for when she had to take the long walk all the way back to her dorm.

Just the thought of the walk back nearly makes her collapse in despair then and there.

“Do you need some help?” someone asks, their voice a light, amused mezzo-soprano.  “Only you’ve been zig-zagging all over the place for a while.”

Manon turns and blinks at a short woman with an Asian cast to her features.  A smirk turns one corner of her mouth upwards; one of her hands lies on her hip, cocked out to the side.  Her feet are planted firmly on the concrete path, spread to the width of her shoulders.

In her spotless pink blouse and khaki slacks, this woman looks as though she could take on the world and win.

“Um, yes please,” Manon says meekly.  The woman’s smirk turns into a full-width smile as she elbows a backpack slung over one shoulder out of the way and offers her hand to Manon.

“Marinette,” she says.  “I teach English here.  Or at least that’s what my job description says.”

“Manon,” Manon says, shaking Marinette’s hand.

“So where are you heading?” Marinette asks.

“Physics building,” Manon says.

“What a coincidence,” Marinette says, walking off briskly in a direction.  “So am I.”

“Thank you,” Manon says meekly as she catches up.

“No problem,” Marinette says.  “You’re new here, right?  Thought so.  Yeah, this campus is a bit of a maze and half the signs are overgrown so you don’t really know where anything is anyways.”

“That sounds like an issue,” Manon says.

“Not unless you’re new—sorry,” Marinette says.  “But you’ll pick it up within a month or two.”

Marinette raises a hand and points.  “Physics building is over there.  Attached classrooms are on the ground floor, staircase down is over there, and the offices are upstairs.”

“Thank you,” Manon says.

“No problem,” Marinette tells her with a smile.  “See you around!”

Marinette bustles off towards a side entrance while Manon pulls out her phone and looks up the specific office.

Right, room 4243.

Aaaand his office hours were going to end in ten minutes.  Shit.

Manon trots over to the elevator and takes it up to the fourth floor, then spends nine of her minutes searching with increasing desperation for the particular office in question.  It doesn’t help that the architect had apparently designed the floor plan for this place while being either extremely drunk or high on hallucinogenic mushrooms.

Manon pauses in the hallway as she hears voices coming from a room, the door cracked open a fraction.

“Cheating is a very serious infraction,” someone—a man, his voice a low, serious, and excessively melodramatic tenor—says.

“I’m so, so sorry, Professor,” a woman replies, her voice dripping with so much sincerity that Manon immediately flags it as Highly Suspicious, Investigate Further.

“It’s not a matter of being sorry,” the man says.  “I’m afraid that I’ll need to report this to administration—”

“Oh please,” the woman says, “please don’t.  Isn’t there anything I could do?”

“Anything is a very dangerous offer to make,” the man says after a moment’s silence.  His voice is deeper, hoarser, promising dark and hungry things that seek soft flesh in the night.

“Anything,” the women replies, and her voice is deeper now, too, layered with quiet desire.

About five seconds after that the pair stop with words and commence with noises that Manon’s only ever heard online.

Okay, so there was a professor in there taking advantage of one of his students.  That couldn’t be ethical.  And Manon had a duty to report this if she witnessed it, didn’t she?  She wanted to be a criminal lawyer someday, and wasn’t this the sort of thing that she’d need to face?

Manon kicks in the door, phone at the ready, and freezes.

Astride—a very handsome young professor, his shirt half-unbuttoned, his goldenrod hair mussed into a bird’s-nest—is Marinette.  The same Marinette who’d guided her here.

She hadn’t walked in on a professor trying to exploit a student, she’d walked in on—

Oh.  Shit.

“Shit,“ Marinette echoes as she hops off of the professor’s lap, sending his chair rolling backwards as he fumbles his shirt closed.  She buttons up her blouse and tucks it back into her slacks as she adjusts her undone belt.  “I thought you said that office hours were over.”

“They are,” the professor says, distractedly running a hand through his hair a couple times, combing it into a rough semblance of order.  “Uh, hi there, sorry about that, just give us a moment.”

He coughs.  “Uh, Ms. Dupain-Cheng here was just delivering some grading that I’d left at home, isn’t that right?”

“Oh, shut up, Adrien, she’s not buying it,” Marinette says with a roll of her eyes.  She leans over and pecks him on the lips.  “I’ll see you at home.  Also, you forgot to turn off the coffee machine again and the pot is soaking in the sink.”

“Thanks, Bugaboo,” Adrien coos, returning the peck.  Marinette rolls her eyes again, smirks fondly at him, and then leaves with a brief smile at Manon.

“Uh, hi there,” Adrien says.  His buttons are mismatched, Manon notices, leaving a gap in his shirt.  “Can I help you at all?  Sorry about the, uh, mess.”

“I, uh, I just need to find room 4243,” Manon says.  She manages to keep most of the stutter out of her voice.  “I was looking for Professor Agreste."

Adrien beams at her toothily.  “Well, you’ve come to the right place then,” he says.  “Pleased to meet you.”

* * *

Manon makes sure to go to his office hours early from then on, and leaves early whenever Marinette drops by.


End file.
